Broken
by Expendable Red Shirt
Summary: We are all broken, and looking for someone to fix us. A lucky few find that someone. Just a bunch of drabbles, mostly romance & angst, with a bit of fluff. Main pairings will be MxM and LxL. Rated T for swearing and maybe older themes.
1. Worth It

His perfect world, shattered.

That's all Light could think about in the Yellow Box Warehouse. His broken dreams. But when he slipped out and began to run, knowing his life was going to end soon, he thought about his life before the Death Note.

He wished he'd never picked the damn thing up.

It had ruined his life. Once you picked up a Death Note, no matter how good a person you were, it corrupted you. And Light, though he had always held himself above the rest, had been just like them. What would his life have been like if he had never picked up the Death Note?

Well, he wouldn't have been about to die, probably. He would have been on the right side of the law. He would've led a highly successful, honest life. But that dream was long gone.

But also, he never would have met L. If there was one thing in all this mess he was thankful for, it was L. He had never before met someone who could match him for intelligence and provide any form of stimulating conversation. He had never met someone he loved so much. He could've had a life with L.

But he had shattered that dream, too.

He _could_ have given the Death Note back to L and forgotten everything. He didn't _have_ to kill Higuchi and become owner of the notebook again. He _chose_ to, just like he chose to kill L, telling himself that he shouldn't let his selfish desires get in the way of helping mankind.

But the dream of a perfect world had been broken, too. So what the hell had he killed L for? _Nothing_. A big, fucking, horrible _nothing_. He had killed, then stabbed and slashed the corpses of his dreams until they became disturbingly mutilated, all for _nothing_.

And now, as he hobbled as far as he could, bullet wounds having torn up his body, Light realized that none of it was worth it.


	2. Liberation

Misa leaned her head against the window of the bus, her tears streaming down he cheeks, some of the making their way to the window.

She had said goodbye to Light only hours ago. It had been harder than she even thought it would be. But she had to keep reminding herself it was for the best.

Misa loved Light, this much was for sure. And even though she was undoubtedly not the smartest person around, but she could plainly see that Light didn't love her back. And one quickly grows tired of trying to keep up a one-sided relationship. He blatantly admitted that he was using her, yet she had stuck around for so long, thinking she could get him to change.

After she and Light had been let out of confinement, she was able to visit him all the time. But he was always with Ryuuzaki—who at the time she didn't know was L. Misa was incredibly observant when it came to love. She could see Light loved the strange Ryuuzaki more than Misa was ever going to be able to get him to love her. But still she stuck around, if only because of the glorified Kira image she had in her mind, if only because of his promise that she would be the goddess of his new world. Oh what a silly girl she had been back then.

She guessed the eye-opener had been when he had killed L without a second thought. Light loved—_truly_ _loved_—L, and yet he discarded him so easily. It made Misa wonder what he would do once he had no need for her. He didn't even _like_ Misa, and with Rem no longer around to protect her by threatening Light's life, the only thing keeping her alive was The Eyes. But what would happen if he found someone else, someone smarter, who was willing to make The Eye Trade?

Misa knew exactly what would happen, and she didn't like to think about it.

Leaving Light caused her actual physical pain, a terrible ripping feeling in her chest. He sobs racked her frail body, and when she ran out of tears she simply dry-heaved until her supply of the salty water built up again. She felt so weak.

And yet, contrastingly, empowered.

Light was always making her feel small, probably so he could control her. He was always talking down at her, and blaming her for whatever went wrong with his perfect plans. Speaking her name with contempt. No one was going to do that now, she would make sure.

Leaving Light was the only way to save herself.

She got off the bus at a stop near to her favorite coffee shop, still shaking and crying a little. She ordered her usual and sat down at a little round table for two in the back—a sore reminder that she was now alone—instead of one of the couches like she usually did. She didn't want people to see her puffy, red, tear-streaked face.

She raised the vanilla bean latté in a toast to herself. Cup still raised, almost as if in triumph, she thought, _'Here's to a second chance at life.'_


	3. Burning

**A/N: I'd like to thank Colwyn and especially DarkAngel2828 for reviewing! Hope you enjoy!**

There was a fire inside of Light.

Not the good kind, the motivated, fiery, independent flame that some people had that made others feel warm.

This fire was aggressive. It burned him, charred his insides till he was nothing but a hallow shell of the so-called-perfect son and person he was thought to be.

He didn't always have this fire inside of him. Only since he had first used the Death Note. And it tortured him with all of the faces of the people he had killed, mostly the ones who hadn't deserved to die.

Sometimes he wanted to scream out in pain, demand that somebody, _somebody_, extinguish the fire. Just stop the excruciating pain, please! Sometimes he wanted to just break down and cry, let it all out for once.

But he never did. He kept it bottled up safely inside, where no one could tell how it burned him, could see the pain it caused him.

The fire had taken place of his soul, he thought. Or maybe, it was a reminder that he still had one.


	4. What Doesn't Count

**A/N: Huge thank-yous go out to Colwyn (sorry if i spelled that wrong) and DarkAngel2828 for reviewing!**

Are you blind, Mello?

Sometimes I really wonder. Seriously. Is it that difficult to open those scorching sapphire eyes of your and _see_?

Or maybe you're just far-sighted, can't see what's right in front of you – me.

I listen to you sympathetically, offer my comforts, even when I, myself, am hurting, as you complain that nothing in your life has gone right. So I guess meeting me doesn't count, right?

You say you're stupid, and that if others weren't so afraid of and intimidated by you, they'd say so.

I always tell you that you are the smartest person that I know – smarter than Near, even, if not in the same areas. And I mean what I say. I've never once been afraid of you. But I guess, since I've only known you since you were five and cute and cuddly and barely threatening at all, and I'm more than a little biased, that my opinion doesn't count.

You say that no one gives a shit if you live or die. That you could go and blow yourself up in a building and nobody would care at all, that the only person who'd be worried would be the owner of that building, and he'd be worried about how the building fared the explosion, not you. You say, your voice soft and shaky, that you don't matter to anyone.

You matter to me. More than life itself. I would die if you were no longer alive. You are my soul reason to continue on. Maybe it's more than a little sappy and cliché, but it doesn't matter because it's true. And you've blown yourself up once, to stop that Yagami guy from getting the shinigami's notebook (the 'Death Note', I believe you called it – I just call it 'that damned thing that took you away from me'). You remember how I reacted that time. Or do you? I suppose it wouldn't matter to you. I didn't take you to a hospital, because I knew you wouldn't want that; I nursed you back to health as best I could, praying for the first time in my life, praying that you would survive. But I guess, since I'm only your best friend in the world, the fact that _I_ would care (and probably commit suicide) if you died doesn't count.

You say no one understands you. They label you as insane and angry, insanely angry, someone with probably severe psychological issues. They don't know the method behind the madness, the true emotions that drive you, that fuel the only feeling they can see—your hate. You say if only there could be one person, just one would be fine, that could truly understand you, then every else's ignorance might not bother you so much.

I know you better than anyone else. You never have to explain anything to me, anything you do or anything you say that comes out wrong, because I just always know why you do it, or what you mean, even if it's so far from what you actually say. I just know. But I guess, since I am only the closest thing you have to family, my understanding of the very depths of your mind, of who you really are, doesn't count.

You say, tears welling in your usually sharp but now watery, blurry crystal eyes, that no one loves you. No one ever has, you say, and you claim that no one ever will. Your family didn't love you; they beat you and neglected you and abused you (you've never told me the full story, but I know enough). No one at Wammy's ever knew you well enough to love you. And L refused to form emotional bonds with any of the orphans, so he could remain objective. You say that you are such a horrible person that you must be unlovable.

I love you. I have loved you from the moment I met you, nearly fifteen years ago, before I even knew what love was, I loved you. And I know I'll never love anyone but you. Ever. I was simply made for you. It's just not possible for me to love anybody else. I'd love you if you were fat, bald, wore neon, eighties-esque spandex workout clothes 24/7 and quit the mafia to open a shelter for homeless cats (my puppy-like side keeps me from ever being able to get along with cats, the snobby, fur-ball-hacking felines). I'd love you no matter what.

But I guess, since I'm only me, Matt, the one who came back to you at your first call even after you'd torn my heart out and killed me inside four years prior, my love doesn't count.

Still I listen, and don't say a word, because I know that's not what you want right now. I know you just want someone to listen. And I let you cry on my shoulder when you finally break down, and silently agree to the plea in your eyes to not ever speak of this moment again. You don't like to be weak.

And when we kidnap the whore (her name is Takada, right?) tomorrow, when we go off to die (because you know as well as I that this is a suicide mission, despite your constant assurances that we'll survive to beat Near and bring Kira to justice) together, I know that you will curse the Lord you once held s dear, demanding to know why He let you die alone.

Because I don't count.


	5. Heaven's Loss

**A/N: This is not so angsty. I actually think it's sorta sweet. But hey, maybe it's not and it's just stupid. Feel free to tell me! I can take criticism!**

Mello sometimes wondered if he was just joking with himself being as religious as he was. With all the terrible things he had done in his life, there was no way he was ever going to get into heaven. So why believe?

Matt had asked about it once. "Why do you always pray?" he wondered out of the blue one cold winter night, as they cuddled under the blankets of the only bed in their apartment. "If there is a heaven, neither of us are getting in. I mean, we're gay, for one. Not to mention I'm a professional hacker—or was for a while—and you were in the mafia. We've harmed lots of people, Mels."

Mello sighed. "I know, but I can't help but hope. I mean, there has to be something better than this, you know? Every obstacle imaginable has been thrown at us in this life."

"And we've always made it through okay, without the help of any god," Matt pointed out.

"I know that, but…. Why don't you believe, Matt?"

Matt shrugged. "Just didn't ever seem to matter to me. Also, what if I pick the wrong religion? Then I spend my whole life pissing God off, thinking I'm doing right, and then wonder why I get sent to Hell. Basically, I don't know, and I don't really care. I guess you could say I'm agnostic."

"But, Matt…" he couldn't finish. What he wanted to say was: Someone as wonderful and kind and loving and amazing and perfect and sweet and considerate and lovable and incredible and loyal and caring as you deserves to go to heaven, no matter what you might've done in life.

"Hey, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable," Matt amended, when Mello didn't finish. "I just really wanted to know why you believed in a religion that preaches against everything we are or do. But I understand why you'd want hope, especially in a life like yours."

"Matt, what's your hope, then? What keeps you going through all of this, if you don't believe in God?"

Matt didn't even hesitate before he responded. "You, Mello. You are my light in all the darkness that surrounds us now. Why would I need God when I have my own personal sun? Mello, _you_ are the reason I keep going. The idea of seeing you again was why I kept up and didn't loose the will to live after you left. You're the reason I don't break."

Mello punched his boyfriend warmly on the shoulder. "You are so sappy sometimes."

Matt smiled, unashamed, and kissed Mello softly. "Mello, you are amazing. And if God wants to exclude you from paradise, well, that's heaven's loss."


	6. Marionettes

**A/N: This is at the time when Misa is jumping off a building to kill herself. I have to say that so the ending will make sense. And this whole one-shot is basically a big metaphor. So you can look forward to deciphering the meanings in here! Have fun!**

_Ugh,_ those lights were hurting Misa's eyes. Lights. Light. Light Yagami. Just the mention of the sacred name got her usually slow mind spinning and dancing with visions of her amazing, incredible, gorgeous fiancé.

A sharp, painful tug on her arm interrupted the pleasant turn her thoughts were taking. It'd better be important, or the name whoever it was that had just tugged on her arm was going straight into the death note. She tried to turn her head, but found she couldn't. It remained lying limply against her chest. What an odd pose. Then she felt another painful tug, though this time from her other arm and the top of her head. She tried to move her arm to lash out at whoever was doing this, but she had no control over it.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a blurred black line, blurred probably because she couldn't focus on it. It looked like a string, and it ended at her arm. She couldn't see how far up in went, but she could easily figure out that other strings, like this one, were what were controlling all her movements.

It was almost as if she was… a doll.

The strings were yanked again, and again, and again, quicker and sharper and in all directions, and she found herself dancing foolishly, at the mercy of the stringmaster. She tried to cry out, as the strings tugged at her skin painfully, but she couldn't open her mouth. Surprisingly, and maybe illogically, this frightened her most of all. Misa had never _not _been able to talk before—just ask any of people who had tried to get her to _shut up_ in the past.

Then, suddenly, the strings halted, and Misa's body fell limp. They pulled again, but this time she hung from them, as her feet were no longer touching the floor. She was discarded carelessly on the ground of a wooden chest, protesting silently as the darkness shut around her.

A light, no, a sort of glow, seemed to come as soon as the lid was shut, and had Misa been able to move her mouth or make any sound, she would have screamed. She was surrounded by marionettes. Now Misa was, in no way, scared of marionette dolls, which weren't even creepy at all compared to the death god she saw every day. But these ones were different.

She saw a doll that resembled Takada, sitting with a Mikami doll on the left side of the chest. She was frowning, and there was a pure blue tear painted on her cheek. Her eyes were painted with such depth, they just looked confused. But part of her was missing. There was a huge, neatly cut hole in her chest and another in her head. Her strings were cut, no longer attached to the wooden hand control, so that the long black twine curled uselessly on the floor. The Mikami doll was scarier. His head was hanging onto his neck by a thread. He looked disillusioned, and deliriously happy, but in the way that seemed like part of him had died and he was only capable of feeling that way anymore. His strings were cut as well.

Her eyes then traveled to a blond doll and a redheaded doll sitting straight across the chest from her. The redheaded doll didn't scare her so much. He wasn't cut up, no part of him was missing. He didn't look sad or crazy or angry. He just seemed warm and… happy. The blond and the redhead shared a wooden hand, as if their individual limbs had joined there and refused to come apart. The blond was faced toward the redhead, looking regretful but at the same time pleading. He was missing both his legs. Their strings were also attached to nothing, but were tangled together.

On the left side of the chest was a doll that she recognized as Light's father. The Soichiro doll was folded over himself, as if in pain. He looked disbelieving. There was black blindfold tied over his eyes that said _'DECEPTION'_ in white lettering. So… someone was deceiving him, so that he wouldn't see the truth about his son?... Or… was he deceiving himself?

There were many others. The guy from Sakura TV, a man with short black hair smoking a cigarette, a quarter cut from his hollow head, a girl in a leather jacket with black hair next to a serious-looking young man, among others, all with their various physical deformities, all their strings cut, but what caught Misa's attention was doll in the corner farthest from her.

It looked like L. Maybe. But it was almost… hollow. There was an opening in the doll's chest, and from that she could see there was nothing inside. His usually white shirt had splatters of red. A chunk of his head was missing. The look on his face was so hurt and bewildered and open, it took Misa's breath away. She had never felt sympathy for L before, perhaps because he never seemed quite human, never seemed like he could feel anything. But now, if she could've cried, she would have. He just looked so vulnerable and – even though he was dead and a doll and hollow, alive and real – more so than he'd ever been when she'd known him. His arms were stretched up, as if reaching for something, but frozen there, as if he could never get to it. His strings, unlike all the others', still extended upwards, caught in the lid of the chest, like the stringmaster had been reluctant to put him away.

Her musings were interrupted when the lid of the chest was opened, to reveal… Light.

He was coming at her strings with a pair of scissors, clipping them one by one. Misa felt the lifelines leaving her, as if they were dependent on the strings. The scissors' sharp blades reached the last black string, and…

Misa's eyes flew open. She registered the wind blowing through her hair. She couldn't figure out where she was. She didn't have time to think. Because the ground was rushing up to meet her very fast.

**A/N: Am I the only one who gets really creeped out by marionettes? Seriously, they're like, demented. **


	7. Hallucination

**A/N: Gneh. :/ Crap story is crap.**

* * *

Mello was cold and alone. He couldn't feel his face after the explosion. There went his good looks, the one thing he could beat Near in. He was a walking failure. So he did what most everyone did when they were feeling as crappy as he. He went to drink himself stupid, till he forgot on the troubles in his God-forsaken life.

The bartender barely glanced at his fake I.D., as he was trying his best not to look at his face. Seven drinks later, Mello wasn't feeling as bad.

Then he heard a voice he never thought he'd hear again. "What hell are you doing in this rat hole, Mels?"

Mello didn't trust his hearing at the moment, so he turned around, just to be sure. He saw the familiar cherry top standing in front of him, PSP in hand.

Matt.

He was rather short, even though he should have been nineteen. Maybe he just stopped growing after fifteen?

Well, that didn't matter. It was _Matt_. Was he dreaming? Seeing the look on Mello's face, Matt smiled and turned the gaming device off. "Hey Mels, you didn't think you could get rid of me so easy, did you?"

Mello's burning sapphire eyes began to water. He was going to cry. He _never_ cried in public.

"Don't cry. You don't like to cry in front of people. You'll be bitching about it for days." Matt knew him so well.

Mello stood up and took a step forward to hug the redhead that was his best friend and only love. Matt reached for him, and Mello leaned forward…

And fell flat on his face.

Matt had disappeared, leaving Mello alone again. Life was playing another one of its cruel jokes on him. Hadn't it fucked with him enough already? Mello stood up and exited the bar, wanting no further alcohol-induced mind games. The drinks had just shoved in his face the one thing he could never have again.

Mello loved Matt, but he could never bring himself to ask him to help with this crazy-ass anti-Kira mission. Because Mello knew he would need to do something that could quite possibly get himself killed, and Matt would demand that he be a part of it. Matt would die for the insane, self-absorbed, winning-obsessed blond. He would die for the leather-wearing chocoholic that didn't know how to fix the mistakes he made in life, because Matt loved him.

And someone as amazing as Matt deserved better.

But the hallucination had just reminded him of the one person he'd ever cared about, the only one he'd ever let past his walls of distrust. And he couldn't take it anymore. He drew his pistol and put his lips around the barrel.

Mello was cold and alone, and he couldn't bear the pain.

* * *

**A/N: I hate this. I didn't update for a whil and when I finally do all I give you is this crap. I apologize, but a better one (hopefully - it'd be hard to get worse) will be up on saturday as well as a Wammy's-era fic.  
Have you met the Review Button? He and I have a love/hate relationship. Right now, we hate each other. TT**

**Review Button: Click me and tell her how horrible this story was! Flamers welcome!**

**Me: Gyah! Shut up! I can take criticism, but I hate flamers.**

**Review Button: Oh, _sure_ you can take criticism. I bet you'd start crying.**

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**Review button: You only say that when you know you've lost an argument.**

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**Review Button: You will make her cry if you give her really mean reviews. Not your fault, she's just a big baby.**

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**Review Button: -dies-**

**Me: If you DO review, please leave a nice one, or constructive criticism. Flames will bring him back to life! But nice reviews kill him more! Review! :3**

**...Wow, this is the longest author's note i've ever written. **


	8. For Sale

**A/N: This is... random. Imagine Matt and Mello both have parents and Mello has just moved to America. I got this idea from a readers digest, because at the back they were talking about funny adds, and one they had found online said: "For sale: One couch, 2 lazy boys attached." And i thought: 'if those two boys were Matt and Mello, I'd buy that couch.' And my idea was born!  
I'd like to thank all who have reviewed so far. Thanks for the support!**

Were all towns in America this strange, Mello wondered? He rubbed his eyes, to make sure he wasn't just seeing things thanks to a serious case of jet lag.

Nope, there was definitely a kid over there, about Mello's age – fifteen –, playing his DS on a beige couch in the middle of someone's front lawn. What the hell? He wished for the eighty-seventh time (he had counted) since he had boarded the plane bound for America, that he were back in Germany. But his parents had insisted that this move would be good for all of them. If you asked Mello, they were just thinking of themselves.

Mello walked across the street from his house, to the boy on the couch. "You live here?" he asked, and the redhead looked up from his game. Orange goggles hung around his neck, and his emerald eyes were stunning. As far as looks go, the guy was pretty cute. Reminded Mello of a puppy.

"Yup. All my life," the boy answered. Well, having a hot guy and potential candidate for first American boyfriend living across the street would make the move more bearable, at least. "My name's Mail Jeevas. But don't ever call me that. I go by Matt."

"My name is Mihael Kheel," Mello introduced himself. "But everyone except my mom calls me Mello. I just moved here from Munich."

"Cool, welcome to the neighborhood, then." Matt looked back to his game. "I wouldn't have guessed you were from a different country if you hadn't told me. You don't really have any accent."

Mello shrugged. They were quiet for a little bit, Mello waiting for Matt to provide any explanation as to why he was sitting on a couch in the middle of his front lawn. He assumed Matt' parents were selling the couch, and Matt had decided it was a nice place to sit. He couldn't think of any alternative reason.

When it was obvious he wasn't going to say anything – too focused on his game – Mello spoke up. "So… _why_ are you playing video games on a couch out here? Is this something that is considered 'normal' here in America?"

Matt laughed. "No. My dad just said I had to go outside and get some exercise, so I pulled the couch out here and started playing my DS. Moving the couch was my exercise, and I'm outside, so he can't complain."

Mello took a breath to make a smart-ass remark, then just closed his mouth and shook his head slowly. He could tell this was going to be an interesting new friendship. "Well," he said after some time, "I guess that makes sense…. I thought you were selling the couch."

Matt laughed again, turning off his DS and looking up at Mello with one raised eyebrow. "What? For sale: One couch, comes with one lazy gamer." He laughed again, brushing his red locks out of his emerald eyes. He had a nice laugh.

Mello sat down on the couch next to Matt and smiled seductively. What he said next made Matt's cheeks turn as red as his hair.

"I would've taken you both home."


	9. He Asked

**A/N: I'm so sorry it's taken me so long to update. My computer and I both got sick, around the same time, though for me it was a bunch of achingly painful stomach problems and my computer it was spyware. So this was the soonest I could have the next chapter up.**

Matt was never going to forgive Mello.

Really.

Even if Mello suddenly called and demanded he come, Matt would refuse. Gone was the eager-to-please puppy-like side of Matt that everyone knew and loved. That part of him had died when he read the note – the _note_, not even a real goodbye, just a fucking _note_ – Mello had left for him all those years ago at Wammy's.

So when he recognized Mello's voice, despite the uncharacteristic trembling, on the other end of the line, he gritted his teeth till the pressure made it hurt, and felt only anger, no more love or devotion, towards the blond who had put him through a level of pain he hadn't even known existed.

He knew exactly what this call was about. He didn't even have to guess. He _knew_. He knew Mello had realized he couldn't win without him, so he had called, so confident in his assumption that Matt would run right back to him, his theoretical tail wagging happily all the way.

'_Not this time, Mello.'_

When he refused, Mello would likely threaten to… blow him up or something. Well, he could threaten Matt till he was blue in the face. The answer was still going to be no.

"Matt," Mello croaked, and Matt cursed himself when his heart sped up at the sound. "I'm so sorry."

All of Matt's brain functions came to a screeching halt. Mello had just _apologized_. Mello. Apologize. Those two words just couldn't coexist. Ever.

"I know I hurt you, but please," – this killed off at least half that brain cells Matt had left after the apology shock; Mello never said please – "please, just listen. I didn't say goodbye because I wouldn't have been able to make myself leave if you had asked me to stay, and I needed to leave so bad. I know I've always acted like I was in charge of you, but you have more control over me than you could ever know."

That took a _lot _of guts for Mello to admit, Matt knew. He always _needed _to be the one in power. To admit that he wasn't….

"And you might have wanted to come with me, and I wouldn't be able to live with myself if you were hurt or killed because of me. But Matt, I – I can't do this on my own anymore. I was stupid and disillusioned to think I ever could. I was wrong, and I know I've been horrible, and I know more than anyone that you deserve better than me, but… could you please help me? I… I need your help. You don't have to. I won't force you. But could you please, please help me?"

Whatever brain cells might have been spared the "please" and "sorry" massacres were mercilessly slaughtered when they heard the question mark in Mello's voice. Mello never asked for anything. Matt wasn't even sure he knew how. He's never had to ask before. Anything he wanted, he got through demands or threats or was simply given to him – such as chocolate – without have to say or do anything.

But Mello had asked. And now it was up to Matt. Was he even capable of saying no to Mello? Ask him a few minutes ago, he would have said, without any hesitation, that after what the blond had done, how could he be stupid enough to say yes to him?

But who was he kidding? Who was he _really_ trying to fool when he said his puppy side had died? That was his _only_ side. He all, one hundred percent, pure puppy. The puppy in him would only die when he did, and maybe not even then, if there was any sort of afterlife.

Matt was done thinking. "I tracked your call. I'm close to where you are. I'll be there in a minute." He was already breaking every speed limit and running every red light to get to the asshole angel named Mello whom he loved more than anything.

Matt wasn't going to forgive Mello, really. But… he asked.

**Please review. I'm not a review whore, but I for every chapter I need at least one review to keep writing. I need to know if anyone actually cares about what I'm writing. Thank for reading, regardless.**


	10. Mortal God

**A/N: Ngeh. Okay, i guess. Could've been worse, could've been better.**

Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang. Bang.

The gunshots fired off. Matsuda breathed hard, staring at his gun. Had he really just done that? _Him_? The useless idiot? The fool? The only one besides Soichiro who had been so sure about Light's innocence? The one who wasn't even sure Kira was evil? The others couldn't believe it. _He_ couldn't believe it.

Light squirmed on the floor and demanded that Matsuda kill the others, not him. They were the enemy here, not Kira! Is what he said. Hatred surged in the young cop, once again catching him by surprise. And then Matsuda was screaming. Screaming at the perfect boy who had turned out … this way.

In a rush of adrenaline, he almost shot Light again, shot to kill, but Aizawa stopped him. Matsuda, though he never said it, was secretly thankful. He'd never be able to stand it if he were the one to murder Light… at least in front of his eyes.

The young man, who really was still just a boy, struggled in a pool of his own blood, making Matsuda want to throw up. He was saying something…. Something like… hell? Bell? Fell?

"_L_," Light whimpered. "L… L… Sorry… L…"

Everyone else was momentarily distracted as Mikami stabbed himself with his pen and spurted blood like a fountain. But Matsuda watched as Light managed to push himself off the floor and escape. He didn't go after him for two reasons: 1) Light was so hurt he would probably bleed to death, and if not Ryuk would write his name down in the notebook. 2) He was simply too shocked to move.

After all of this, Light could have apologized to his father, his mother and sister, Misa, Takada, Mello, Mikami, any of the other people he'd killed or those whose lives had been ruined by Kira. He could have apologized to so many people. He could have apologized to no one at all, which seemed more likely when it came to Light, because apologizing meant admitting he had been wrong.

But he _had _apologized.

To L.

L, his greatest adversary. L, his mortal enemy. L, his only true rival.

So L must've meant a hell of a lot to Light, for him to apologize, to admit that he was wrong for. Matsuda didn't chase after Light as the others did. He was rooted to the spot. Confused. Matsuda's mind just could not comprehend the possibility that someone as evil and twisted as Light had turned out to be could care about someone as much as it was now obvious he did.

Matsuda, simple as he may be, saw deeper into this than any of the others ever could. And he knew, he _knew_, that wherever Light was, dying—because he knew this also—he was thinking of L. No one else would cross his mind. Not even himself, for once. Just L.

And maybe, if he had enough emotion to care for someone as deeply as Matsuda could see he cared for L, maybe Light wasn't such a monster after all. Maybe he was just like the rest of us desperate, confused, needy humans.

Light. _Human_.

It almost made sense.


	11. Suicidal

**A/N: This was actually the first chapter for this story, but the site made an error when i uploaded it, putting the sentence 'Mello didn't want to die' above the line, and i couldn't stand the idea that the first thing everybody saw of my story was a screw-up, so i'm deleting that and reposting this. It's the same fic minus the error.**

Mello didn't want to die.

Despite what many believed, what with him blowing up buildings while he was still inside, Mello was not suicidal. He wasn't exactly happy with his life, but he was deliriously in love with his best friend, a certain very special redheaded gamer. There was no way in hell he wanted to leave the sole reason for his existence.

So why did he rush off into the face of death kidnapping Takada? Because he knew he wouldn't be able to catch Kira, and Near could. He knew the sacrifice of his life would save so many others.

In the end, he just realized his life wasn't worth Near dying and the rest of the world as they knew it going with him. So he made the ultimate sacrifice.

But really, Mello didn't want to die. He had too much to live for.


	12. Guardian Angel

**A/N: Okay, so i have to make this really quick, as my Aunt is over for my birthday. Hi Aunt Linda! (she's reading this over my shoulder - she says she likes the story) Now, Aunt Linda and I both think that this one is good, but there have been times when i thought one was horrible and all the reviewers liked it, so you never know. **

* * *

Matt's my unknowing guardian angel.

Without even trying, he has saved me countless times, swooped down and pulled me out of my pit of despair.

Take when I left Wammy's, for instance. I didn't get into the mafia right away. Things just don't happen like that. I was sleeping on the streets, eating _normal_ food when I couldn't steal chocolate. It was taking forever to just get to the starting point. And I knew that somewhere, Near was already in the race, and was getting closer to Kira, and that I couldn't do a damn thing about it.

Sometimes, I just wanted to take my stolen gun and shoot myself. What reason was there to live, anyway? If I wasn't going to catch Kira, first or ever, then I had nothing. I'd rather be dead than have to live on as second.

But every time I started having those thoughts, Matt's glorified image would come into my head, and my finger would fall from the trigger, and I'd set the gun down gently. Because as long as Matt was in the world, even if he wasn't next to me, like I wanted him to be, things made sense, or at least, had meaning.

This happened more times than I'd like to admit.

He didn't even have to _be_ with me to save me. That just backed up my theory that he was my guardian angel, sent from heaven above and completely unaware.

I am not exaggerating when I say that Matt is the sole reason that I am still alive today.

And I know he'd die to save my life. Just like that. No second thoughts, nothing. He'd do it. So many people say they'd give their lives to save someone close to them, but none of those people would. It's the people who don't say it, who don't _need_ to say it, that really would.

Which is why I feel like such a jackass whenever I call on him. Whenever I ask for his help, to do something where he could possibly be hurt, I feel as if I am personally offending God, treating one of his angels that way.

But Matt never complains. Because he's doesn't know he's my guardian angel. He probably wouldn't want to help me if he did, if that makes sense.

Which is why I can't ever let him know.

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**Oh, and it's fine that didn't get any reviews on the last chapter. I didn't expect to, as it was just the first chapter, reposted. But i do want a review on this chapter, cos it's a new one!**


	13. Impatient Bitch

**A/N: This is another one of those 'I could've written better, in my opinion' fics. (I seem to have a lot of those. Maybe I **_**can't**_** write better). I have another one coming on Friday, but I'm going on vacation for spring break, so don't expect another update after that for a while. Oh, and the title has no meaning or reference in the story, except for the last line. Enjoy - maybe.**

Could we start again, L?

I know it's impossible, because you're already dead, and I'm just lying here, dying on the dirty stairs of an abandoned warehouse—such a fitting death for a wannabe god, wouldn't you say? And people don't start over once they're dead. Being dead is… nothing. I know that now, and I haven't even died yet. Then again, maybe Ryuk lied to me. He hasn't exactly proven himself to be trustworthy in the past.

But still, no matter how impossible it may be, I still want to start over. Maybe this hope has about just as much a chance of becoming a reality as my dream of the perfect world—which led me to this cruel but fitting punishment—and maybe it's just another impossible want of mine. But I see you over there in the shadows, watching me, and I know you know what I'm thinking, without me having to say, and—let's be honest—there's really nothing left for me to lose at this point, so it can't hurt asking.

Let me make this clear: after I got a hold of Higuchi's death note and got back the memories of all the horrible things I'd done with it, I didn't want to kill you. But at that point, all the parts of my plan had worked out perfectly, and there was no way to avoid your death. If there was a way, then you would still be living, I swear—though I guess my word doesn't count for much, does it?

But I'm dying now, too. And to be quite honest, it a huge relief. I'd have preferred to have been caught by you, instead of Mr. Mock-Up L, Near. He has no right to succeed you, you know that? He doesn't do justice to the name of L. But despite the humiliation of this defeat, I am not as desperate and broken as you might expect me to be.

Dying means I don't have to deal with the guilt of killing you anymore, the worst of my many guilts (some of the other strong ones include killing my father, getting my sister kidnapped, ruining my family… ruining myself).

Dying means I can be free. Whether in hell or in MU (because it's clear at this point that I am nowhere _near_ going to heaven), I don't have to be Kira anymore. I haven't wanted to be Kira since I got my memories back. After that, I realized how stupid my desire was, creating a perfect world by killing off all criminals—you were right; only someone as narcissistic, egotistical, and immature as I am could even think about pulling that off. Then again, you are just like me. You might have done the same thing, if you had never been raised to be the world's greatest detective.

And, probably the greatest relief of all, dying means no longer having to deal with that headache of a girl, Misa. I hate her. Not only because she is stupid, obnoxious, bubbly, empty-headed, stubborn, and _squealy_, but because if not for her and her stupid Shinigami Rem, you wouldn't be dead. I wouldn't have been stuck between a rock and a hard place,

And I would have just given up the notebook, lost all my memories, and lived happily ever after in a Kira-less world.

Anyway, like I asked before, I wish we could start again. I'm 99.87% sure—ha! Now I sound like you!—that you will turn me down, but maybe you could forgive me? Or at least understand. I beg you to understand. Try to see things from my point of view. I went a few months seeing things _only_ from your point of view; the least you could do is try it for a few seconds.

Ugh, now I sound demanding and accusatory. That's not how I meant it, I just…

Oh well. I'll see you soon, I guess. Death is calling, and she is one impatient bitch.


	14. Glass Half Empty

**A/N: Okay, so i got the idea for this one when i was watching Death Note: The Abridged Series by 1KidsEntertainment. It was in episode 17. Feet. Light says L's eyes resemble "a glass half full" and L respondes by saying, "Actually, it's a glass half empty and they really need to get that UFO off the damn set." Random, i know, but that's where i got the idea. And i know i said i wasn't gonna post till friday, but i figured i would post this now anyway. I'll post tomorrow, too. 3 days of consecutive updates to make up for the fact that i'm going on vacation and won't be posting for a while. **

**Hugmungous(sp?) thanks go out to DarkAngel2828 and Mirror of Melancholy for being so awesome as to review every single chapter! You guys always make my day! Also, thank you to those who added this to your favorites and alerts - i really appreciate it! It would be really nice if you took the time to leave a quick review though - hint hint, nudge nudge - a fave or alert can say only so much, but a review can say up to 10000 characters! -smile smile-**

**Okay, huge, rambling author's note done now (seriously, longest i've ever written). Now on with the story!**

* * *

L's eyes were so empty, those last few months.

No one else realized it, but I did. To the others, they were always devoid of emotion. That was just who L, Ryuuzaki, was. There was no questioning it. But I could see through the façade. The truth was so clear in his onyx eyes, at least to me.

Back before I gave up my notebook, when I knew I was Kira, his eyes were so steely and strong-willed. There was raw determination there, and anger. There was immense pain, but he hid that best. I only caught glimpses of it. And there was… something akin to understanding, like he knew why Kira was doing this, and could sympathize, possibly even empathize, though I knew nothing of his past so I could not know this for sure. When we talked, there was excitement, fear, and competitiveness, because he had never met someone who could match him in intelligence before. I was the only one.

But even though I saw all of this, the others saw nothing. Perhaps this was because of the last reason, that I was the only one who could even come close to his level of smarts. And in the way I saw through him, he saw through me. He could read me like a book, as I could him. And we the only ones. I guess we bonded over that.

But after I'd given up my Death Note, lost my memories, and been let out of confinement after fifty or so days, there was nothing. At first I thought being locked up away from any human being for so long had just thrown off my skills for a bit. But if that was the problem, then those skills were apparently gone forever, because I could never read him again.

No, that wasn't it. I could read him, just as easily as I had before. But the thing was… there was nothing there to find. Absolutely nothing. It was like he was empty. That was all I could see in his eyes. The others noticed no change. He'd always seemed like this to them. But I noticed.

Then, when I killed him, and held him as he died, smirking evilly and hating myself more so than ever before, his eyes finally came alive again. It threw me off for a second, so I might've of missed something, but I saw the confusion, the hurt, the pure hatred. Then relief. Then they were empty again.

That's what my eyes resemble now. There is no more burning desire to win, to create my perfect world. I honestly don't care anymore. But it still startles me, somewhat, when I look into the mirror, and almost see you as my reflection.

* * *

**Thanks for reading! **

**And you should all go check out Death Note: The Abridged Series. You can find it on Youtube by typing in '1KidsEntertainment' and on iTunes by typing in 'Death Note' and looking under podcasts. Seriously, stop wasting your time here and go check it out - after you review, of course :3**


	15. Twisted Competition

**A/N: Okay, i know this is really short, but i hope you like it anyway. And what i'm saying with the title 'Twisted Competition' is that everything is a contest between Light and L, even this. It's sad, really.**

You've never said you hate me, outright.

You've been nothing but outwardly cordial. In fact, you went so far as to say I was your first-ever friend. Did you really think I would fall for that? I saw no point in that particular lie, honestly. Did you think I would slip up if I felt more comfortable around you and thought we were friends? I don't know. I never asked you. You were my 'friend'.

But I could tell you hated me. It was painfully obvious. Did you even try and hide it from me? You, my greatest enemy, probably think you hate me more than anyone in the world. Sorry to have to be the one to tell you, but you are wrong.

Because no one can hate me more than I hate myself.


	16. Deaf Ear

**A/N: I AM BACK FROM TEXAX, PPLZ! thanks for all the favs (there were surprisingly a lot) and alerts and reviews! Thanks you to reviewers: Martata, Colwyn, and midnight-elise, ad the ever-kind, ever-loyal, and ever-awesome DarkAngel2828 and Mirror of Melancholy.  
I love the reviews!  
****And you might have noticed that i have returned to Matt and Mello. While on one of the many long drives of my vacation, Matt, Mello and i had a heart-to-heart talk (which freaked out my parents a little) in which they agreeed to not appear in every single one of my dreams if i wouldn't banish them from my fanfiction. But not all the chapters will be dedicated to them. I have a chapter coming up where Misa supports Light and L as a couple. It will either be called Finders Keepers or Losers Weepers.  
****Anyway, this concludes the longest Author's Note i've written thus far. Enjoy the story!**

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Ever have those moment with a friend, when you're laughing your butt off and say something like, "Omigod I love you," you know, like a sister or a brother or a friend? And your sides hurt from laughing and you guys are having a great time and your friend returns the compliment, and neither of you give it a second thought, because you both know the other doesn't feel that way and didn't mean it like _that_.

Matt and I have those moments all the time. He says we're like brothers, and that if we were at a normal orphanage, he would refuse to go with his adoptive parents if they didn't adopt me, too. Just brothers.

Don't get me wrong. Being as close as I am to Matt, well, most people don't experience such a friendship. We are in total harmony. Only a lucky few ever have that with someone. But in those lucky few, there will always be at least one person who sings the wrong note, or whose instrument is off-tune, and messes up that harmony by falling in love with the other friend.

I am that person.

Matt will _never_ think of me that way. He hits on basically anything in a skirt. Maybe if I put a skirt on…. No, there's still the whole issue with the dick and what not. Anyway, point is that Matt is as straight as a ruler, whereas I am as straight as a rainbow.

And every time we have one of those friendly 'I love you' moments, I always mean it in a much-more-than-friendly way. And he never notices that my voice is a little less goofy and more serious when I say it, and that I look at him with what one would call 'bedroom eyes'. He doesn't hear the strong emotion, passionate fire burning behind my voice.

I'm revealing my deepest darkest secret everyday, but Matt just turns a deaf ear.


	17. Finders Keepers

Finders keepers, losers weepers.

Had such a childish statement ever rung so true?

This little rhyme, used to justify the taking of one child's object by another, explained as exactly as anything could the situation Misa was in now, concerning Light and Ryuuzaki. Ryuuzaki had met Light much before Misa ever had. In fact, she was still fangirling over her beloved Kira while they were becoming friends.

They both loved Light. With Ryuuzaki it was harder to tell, but Misa was good with that sort of thing. Misa has blamed Ryuuzaki from the beginning when it came to Light's lack of love for her. If Misa had gotten to him first, she was sure she could've gotten Light to love her the way he currently did the creepy pervert – ahem, the shy detective.

And because of that, Misa felt, Ryuuzaki was the finder, and therefore the keeper, while she was the loser, and as such, the weeper. Because why hold onto a heart where somebody else had already staked a claim? There was no point to it, and prolonging the inevitable was just going to make it hurt more.

It was this train of thinking (which wasn't as rare for Misa as one might assume) that led to where she was now – tears threatening to make their appearance as she held a very confused Light with a silent L a couple feet away. With one final squeeze, she let go of Light, both literally and theoretically, and pushed him gently towards L, who wrapped his arms around Light, almost as if it were a reflex reaction. Like maybe he always held him. Misa wouldn't be surprised, but she also didn't want to know.

"Finders keepers," she whispered, a tear finally breaking past her guards and rolling down her cheek, leaving a dark mascara-streak behind. "Take good care of him, Ryuuzaki." At that, she turned and fled before either boy could start asking questions, leaving two extremely puzzled detectives behind.

When she got to her floor, she broke down and cried. She could only hope they wouldn't be watching on the security cameras, but the worry that they were didn't stop the tears from falling freely. She silently finished off the nursery rhyme she had started to say to Ryuuzaki just a minute ago.

'Losers weepers… indeed.'


	18. Should, Would, and Could

**A/N: Ok, this has taken a ridiculously long time to update. I'm sorry, but i've been SUPER busy. Here are my reasons:  
1) court thing  
2) my computer decided that i didn't have permission to open any of my folders, or bring up the internet - even iTunes had decided not to work!  
3) my aunt Lara died, so I wasn't really in the mood to be writing for a while.  
4) school decided to give me a million tests, and by the time i'd get home everyday, my brain was to exhausted to think about writing  
So see? I was busy, i have legit reasons!  
Also, i was busy writing this new story called Finding Matt. It will be multiple chapters and i just posted the first one today! Go read it! Ok, pitiful self-advertisement over. On with the fic!**

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I should hate Light Yagami with a passion. So then why do I love him so?

Well, that's a good question, actually. After all, there are many thing not to love about him, number one being that he's Kira, L's greatest enemy, and he killed me – yep, that's a pretty big one right there. He's also a narcissistic, egotistical maniac who uses people as he pleases even if it means sacrificing innocent lives.

But honestly, I see him as a kid with a strong sense of justice – as I was – frustrated by the legal system letting off too many 'evildoers' with just a warning, who obtained the tool necessary to deal out justice the way he thought was right. After he started, he couldn't stop. Once one has tasted that kind of power, it's simply human nature to do everything one can to hold on to it. And as much as Light Yagami wants to be a god, he is human. I cannot hold that against him.

And when he didn't have his memories, I saw the others side of him. The sweet, innocent boy with big doe eyes who loved and respected his father and could hold his own with the professionals, and even make them look inferior (though with Matsuda that's _hardly_ an accomplishment). It reminded me that my number one Kira suspect was a human, too, and that he was a lot like me.

It's true. He is very much like me. First of all, I am L, Kira's greatest enemy – or his used-to-be greatest enemy, actually, as I am dead and Near took over that seat for me – so he was in the same situation, only reversed. I am also egotistical – you have to be, to be a detective of my caliber – and one could argue a maniac in my own way. We were both – and he still is – fighting for the unrealistic goal of creating a new world where criminals are not free to run the streets, harming innocent lives; he's just going about it in a different way than I did.

And had he not beaten me to it, and had I found the physical evidence or solid proof I needed to convict him, I would have done so in a heartbeat. I would have sent him to death. L Lawliet the person would be protesting and crying and screaming at me, because L Lawliet loved Light Yagami, but that was simply the duty of L the detective, and L the detective's decisions overpowered those of L Lawliet the person, at least up until I died.

I could see the same kind of conflict in Light's eyes when he smirked at me as I died. I saw Kira, who was the one smirking at me evilly and radiating a generally smug aura. And then I saw Light, who was the one holding me as I died, who was shaking me and telling me I'd better not die on him.

That's right, it wasn't an act put on for the other officers, and I could tell. It was the two sides of him fighting for control. Light was the one who could've cried for hours clutching my limp body, but Kira was the one who won out and made him leave to go 'search for the damn shinigami' (read: get the notebook). For both of us, our colder, less human sides outweigh the person in us, and that is what causes – or caused, in my case – all our trouble.

He's just a boy, in over his head. Just like I was when I started being L. Maybe I don't hate him because it'd too much like hating myself. We are like one.

I'm not going to say we were meant to find each other, because I don't believe in fate controlling things, but maybe, if we _were_ made by some intelligent designer, we were made with the idea in mind that we would someday meet. Maybe it wasn't so much fate, as much as they – whoever 'they' are – anticipated this.

And I hope more than anything that they anticipated we would meet again, after death.


	19. Could You Do Me a Favor?

**A/N: Don't really have much to say this time. Not so happy with how this turned out, but I think it's pretty good considering I wrote it at 2 am while watching Inuyasha on Adult Swim. I think maybe I rambled a bit. Oh, and in case you don't know when you read it, the sugar cubes were left by Light, not that he has much to do with this.**

So this was L's final resting place.

There was a small pile of sugar cubes on the grave, clearly put there by someone who knew him well. Seeing as they hadn't been eaten by any animals yet, it was fair to assume that whoever had left them there had done so not very long ago. Matt added a chocolate bar, mentioning that it was from Mello, not him, and a mushy strawberry shortcake ice cream bar still in the wrapper. Not the best idea, but after the chocolate he had run out of ideas, and the drug store didn't sell just plain strawberries or even cake.

"Um, hey L," the soon-to-be-fifteen-year-old mumbled, looking down at the cement path. "You know I'm not good with small talk, especially when the other person can't respond, so I'm just gonna say what I came to say and get it over with."

He took a deep breath.

"I think maybe it's good you died when you did," he blurted. All was silent for a few minutes. Matt ran his pale hand through his unnaturally bright red tresses (he didn't dye his hair, it was just that color from the beginning).

"Wow." He exhaled heavily. "That sounded worse than I even thought it would." He turned on his heel, as if to walk away, but then spun back around. "But maybe you even agree with me…"

When L used to visit the orphanage, he made a point of spending time with each of his successors, advising them and critiquing their academic performance since the last time he'd visited. Well, at least, that's what he did with Matt and Mello, but with Matt, it was different.

Matt had made it clear from the very start that he didn't want to succeed L. And even though L could see that he was smarter than Near, Mello, and L combined, and even though he could easily ascend to first place on a whim with the bare minimum of effort, L never considered choosing Matt. Because if Matt didn't want to be his successor, he wasn't going to force the boy into something he didn't want to do.

So he didn't ever bother telling Matt to turn in his homework, or to stop playing his games in class, or to read books instead of spending all afternoon trying to beat Bowser and and save Princess Peach. It wasn't going to make a difference, anyway. And so with Matt, he just talked. He told the gamer about whatever case he was working on at the time, he gave him Watari's secret recipe for strawberry shortcake, he told Matt about his life before Wammy's, and how he got to be the top three greatest detectives in the world.

And on his most recent case, the Kira case, the one that killed him, he would contact his successors through their laptops. Every time he contacted one of them, that boy would have to destroy the computer he had been talking to L through, except for Matt, because nobody could hack into Matt's files – Wammy's had tried several times, even getting L to help once, but it was a futile effort. And besides, Matt probably wouldn't have destroyed his technology anyway, not even if England's Prime Minister himself ordered him to; it was too important to him. And so all of Matt's beloved computers remained in working order.

When he talked to Matt once, he sounded… strange. Like maybe he had some emotion in his voice or something. Matt couldn't tell. It was just a strange concept for him. L told him about this guy… what did he call him? Bright? Night? Probably didn't matter; knowing L, it wasn't a real name, anyway. But he told Matt he was in love with this guy, even though he was certain he was Kira.

"Night, Bright, Light – whatever," Matt finally spoke. "He wanted you dead. He killed you. But you loved him L, you told me so. Several times, you told me. You didn't want to have to convict him, even if he was the greatest murderer of all time and needed to be stopped. So I think you agree with me, a little, at least. Because since you died when you did, you saved yourself the conflict of sentencing him.

"And so can you understand why I'm a little relieved that you died when you did?" Matt asked. "Before you could choose a successor? Before you could choose Near?"

There was no doubt in Matt's mind that L would have chosen Near as his successor. Of course he would, it was the only practical decision. Mello was too emotional. He'd make a great something – Matt had always been sure Mello would make a name for himself somehow, in some way – but not as L. Mello was too proud, carried himself with too much grace, held himself above others – he could never conform to another's image. Try as he might, it would never happen. But Near could've been L easily. He didn't have a personality, he wasn't _alive_ like Mello was, so he could become someone else.

"If you had lived long enough to pick Near as your successor, Mello might've killed himself," Matt whispered, his goggles filling with tears at the very thought. "Since you died before you made your decision, he can still cling on to the hope that you would've chosen him."

Yeah, Mello was gone. He had left Wammy's and was never looking back. But neither was Matt. After all, he was in Japan now – it made sense, because all the Kira crap happened there, not to mention they always got the games and systems sooner than the rest of the world – not only in another country, but a whole other continent than Wammy's.

And of course, Matt couldn't put into words the pain he felt at the blond's absence. It had always been the two of them, since he was brought to Wammy's at the tender age of five and assigned to share a room with the energetic, aggressive, passionate Mello. It was harder than anyone could imagine for him to go on without his chocoholic friend there beside him, leading him.

But there was always hope that they'd meet again. Whereas, if L had had more time alive and had chosen Near as his successor, Mello would've committed suicide – he was just that committed – which would have caused Matt such immeasurable, insufferable pain, probably not known on earth yet, that he would have killed himself as well without even batting an eye. But since L had not chosen his successor, Mello would never stop trying, so he could make L proud and maybe even prove himself worthy of the dead man's honor and admiration. He would never turn the gun on himself, because that would be giving up, admitting Near was better than him. And as long as Mello was somewhere on this planet, Matt could still exist.

Mello was Matt's will to live. The possibility of succeeding L (even though he was dead and couldn't choose) and beating Near was Mello's will to live. Therefore, L dying was the only way Matt could see for both the boys to live. It was a cruel thought, but L would not criticize him for thinking it, because it was the truth.

L was doing everyone a favor when he died.


	20. Just a Shirt

It had been two and a half years since Mello had left Wammy's. Two and a half fucking years, and Matt hadn't contacted him. As far as Mello knew, he hadn't even tried. And Mello knew that if anyone would be able to track him down and contact him, it would be Matt.

The redhead was a technological genius who could easily surpass L, if only he wanted to. If he wanted to do anything, he would be able to do it, probably even things that were thought physically impossible. So if he wanted to find Mello and get in contact with him, Mello could do nothing to prevent that. Matt would've found him quickly, too. Probably within a few months he would at least be able to contact him via phone. Give him half a year, and there was no way Mello could avoid being found, no matter how many times he changed his name or how many countries he moved to.

But he had not heard from Matt since the night he left Wammy's house _two and a half years ago_.

Mello had tried finding him through Wammy's, but it was impossible. Matt had disappeared, even more than Mello himself had. And no one could ever find Matt is he did not want to be found. No one. Not even L, if he were alive.

Maybe something inside of Mello had known he wouldn't be seeing Matt for a long time after he left, possibly never again, because on his way out he had grabbed one of the gamer's signature striped shirts out of closet and tucked it under his jacket, where it was close to him. He had taken it, not for the visual reminder, but for the smell. Matt's smell.

Matt smelled like the most amazing cologne in the world, at least if you asked Mello. It was a mix of cigarette smoke, ramen noodles, and sweet, fresh, honeysuckle flowers, with a bit of chocolate mixed in (no doubt a result of spending so much time around Mello). When he smelled Matt he could see the redhead, could feel him, could hear his melted-chocolate voice, could taste him again. It was as if his best friend and lover were actually there with him again, and it made everything all better, like a mother kissing her child's scraped knee and making his tears stop. That was what it was like.

And on those nights when he wished he would die, just hated his life so much that he actually took his gun out of his uncomfortable leather pants (which he wore only to go with his badass look, not because he actually liked the sticky, suffocating feel of the leather) and pressed it against his temple so he could feel the smooth, cold metal, he would slowly set down the gun and pick up the striped fabric, holding his up to his face and inhaling deeply the scent of Matt. Then the redhead would be there with him again, and he could go on.

And that was what he did now, sitting on a zebra-print couch in the mafia base, fellow mobsters sleeping wherever they could find a place, some on the couch, some in chairs, some on the floor. This wasn't his home, it wasn't where he belonged, but it was where he had to be, no matter how much he detested it. He pulled the shirt out and stared at it for a second.

If Matt were there, everything would be so much better. It'd all be okay. He would do whatever he had to do, and get through, maybe even enjoy it, if only the redhead was there with him. But Matt wasn't there. Which was why Mello needed the shirt so desperately, the only thing he had to hold on to Matt.

Slowly he brought the striped article of clothing up to his nose and breathed in, and… nothing. It did not smell like Matt. It smelled like leather, chocolate shampoo, body odor, new shoes, explosives, whores, wet cement. All the things the mafia base smelled like and all the things Mello smelled like…

But none of the things Matt had smelled like.

So it brought back nothing. It hadn't for a while now. But he couldn't remember when exactly the intoxicating scent of Matt had worn away. It had just sort of… faded.

So he sat there, Matt-less, and therefore hopeless, on the zebra-print couch, watching tear after salty tear land on the now useless fabric, trying to remember when it had stopped being and Matt, and started being just a shirt.


	21. No Title because I Fail at Life

**A/N**: This one is – gasp! – about Near! I don't know if I've ever done that before. So yeah, it's from Near's POV, and he's talking about Mello. But the pairing is MxM.

Some people say I love him. Well they are wrong. I used to love him. But that was a minute ago.

I am not a masochist, and loving him hurt me. And pain may be productive for artists and poets and _their_ type, but I am not artistic in any way. Pain just fogs my mind, which needs to be sharp and alert at all times.

I think there are few people on this earth who can help themselves from loving Mello. Maybe his enemies. And some straight men. _Some_. It ends there. But he has never loved anyone back, never returned those feelings. He has rejected many people harshly, without worrying t all about their feelings. Which was why I never expressed my love for him. If he turned all others down, then how could he ever love me, the only obstacle blocking him from becoming the next L?

It always helped to think he just couldn't love anyone. That the reason he and I could never be was simply because he didn't belong with anyone. He was entirely other, and nothing could change that, not even the strongest of feelings. He wasn't compatible with any type of person. That way it didn't hurt as much when he demonstrated, through words and physical abuse, time and time again, how much he despised me. Because he could never love anyone, I could cope.

When Matt arrived at the orphanage, I took it upon myself to look up his test scores, so I could judge if he was any competition. He had scored higher than I did on the entrance exam – much higher. That was the first thing that brought him to my attention. The second was when he was assigned to be Mello's roommate. To be quite honest, I was worried about him. Looking back on that now, I was so unbelievably stupid and naïve.

The first sign that they were getting along was that Matt never showed up to class with any new bruises. There were still some left healing from his apparently abusive home life, but after a few weeks, those, too, disappeared. And no new ones took their place. That alone was an accomplishment when dealing with Mello.

Soon after Matt had arrived at Wammy's, it was as if he and Mello were conjoined twins. They never left each other's sides. Because Matt was new and shared a room with Mello, and everyone had always been to afraid to sit next to Mello, they were seated next to each other in all their classes, so even then they were together. Mello, surprisingly, puts up with the constant beeping noises from Matt's games, and no doubt the late nights with the TV still on as Matt races cars in Tokyo, the desert, and space, or fights Bowser to save Princess Peach.

Of course, he was new, so the older kids tried to pick on Matt.

I stress the word _tried_.

Mello declared that anyone who dared lay a finger on his Matt would be punished severely, receiving anything they did to Matt times thirteen. He made an example of those first bullies. (To this day, they still run away, whimpering slightly, whenever Mello and Matt pass them in the halls.) Anyone who even attempts to tease the boy (often about being 'Mello's puppy'), often ends up with a sprained ankle, black eye, split lip, or bloody nose.

Matt, in turn, seems to have an endless back-up supply of chocolate for Mello. Before Matt came, Mello was limited to ten bars a day or less. But ever since Matt showed up, the blond has not been seen without a chocolate bar in his mouth. I still don't know what Matt's connection is or how he gets past Roger – nobody does – but no one bothers to ask. He won't sell Mello out. For anything. Whenever Mello wants to do something bad, Matt helps him. And if they get caught, Matt will do his best to avert the blame to himself, not that Mello usually lets this happen. They are team. I never thought Mello could be a team player.

It's been like this since Matt arrived at Wammy's when he was eight. He and Mello are fourteen now, and have remained close for all this time. Just a minute ago, I still held out hope – so miniscule it could not be seen under a figurative microscope – that I had a chance.

A minute can change so much.

Because a minute ago, I hadn't yet walked into Matt and Mello's room to ask for a robot the blond had stolen from me. I hadn't seen them kissing passionately on Mello's bed, wrapped up in each other and completely oblivious to their intruder. I hadn't closed the door slowly so that they wouldn't hear me. I hadn't run down the halls of Wammy's House, silent in my white socks on the smooth wooden floors, trying not to cry. I hadn't slammed and locked the door to my room, or hugged my stuffed rabbit that usually went ignored to my chest, or cried like nobody thought I could.

That's what I'm doing now, because Matt just killed the theory that made everything okay. He had shown me that Mello _could _love someone, that he _was_ compatible with someone, that he was _made_ for someone. Matt. Not me. Matt.

I am not a masochist, and loving him hurts me. So I'm giving it up. I'm giving up on love. There is no point to it, because if you are not on the receiving end, it is just something in this world designed to cause pain.

Some people say I love him. Well they are wrong. I used to love him. But that was a minute ago.


End file.
